


On the street where you live

by Yoonaya



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoonaya/pseuds/Yoonaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongdae meets Joonmyun in the form of the strange new client in the gay bar where he works. It all gets a bit complex from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Minor changes might appear in the future.

 

 

 

If ever I have a son in life, I'll call him in one day

Sit him down upon my knee and here is what I'll say

 

You might lose your lover, people do sometime

Oh, but it won't make sense for you to sit around crying

 

Son, don't you know that when you fall in love

Sometimes, you're gonna have the blues

 

Well it may take years, but you're gonna shed some tears

'Cause everybody's got to pay some dues, now, now

Everybody's got to pay some dues

 

 

*

 

They found his diary under his bed. Jongdae supposes that’s where it all went wrong. He had damned himself, damned himself to hell and back, for writing the bloody thing in the first place. It had been there for Jongdae when he hadn’t had anyone to talk to; when he had secrets he needed off his chest but not out in the open. Nobody was supposed to have read it, but they had. Somewhere between his mother crying at breakfast and his father’s angry rant in the evening, Jongdae had packed his bags and phoned his friends for a goodbye. He had taken the last train to Seoul and never looked back.

 

This was not because of Jongdae’s misunderstanding of his parents’ feelings. He of all people could understand their confusion and anger, but the realisation that Jongdae could never lie about who he was, had made him leave. He was never going to marry a nice girl with long black hair and a sweet laugh. He wasn’t going to lie and pretend to his family members just to satisfy them. Kim Jongdae would never be untrue to himself.

 

So when he arrived in Seoul, he pledged himself to be as open and honest about things as he could, to never lie and be fake. After a job of collecting and cleaning empty shot glasses from drunken salary men at blue plastic tables, Jongdae went to Itaewon to work in one of the gay bars popping up in the city like mushrooms in autumn. He’d wake up in the morning in his tiny room, smoke some tea with his roommate, try to get money from passersby in the afternoon with his singing and Chanyeol’s gentle guitar strum, then at night take the tube to the busy streets of Itaewon until the smog-filled sky turned pink and the pavements turned a orange splattered mess from their customer’s vomit. He’d take the fifth line back home, the tube shooting him through darkness for thirty minutes, and he’d put himself to bed. And every night, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

*

 

The first time Jongdae met Kim Joonmyun was during one of his shifts at the Barracuda. He had caught Jongdae’s eye with the way the other man had fidgeted with his suit jacket, how he didn’t quite dare to look anyone in the eye and awkwardly tried to figure out where to place his slightly shaking hands. They got first timers quite often and Jongdae knew the type, but they almost never dared to come alone, and they weren’t usually this handsome. This man was young, somewhere mid-twenties, with a good looking face and the marine suit that hugged his body was obviously tailor-made. A large watch trailed down his thin wrist. Most of the people that frequented the bar were university students looking to get off with someone, social outcasts looking for a place to unwind, drag queens in neon pink heels and painted faces. Jongdae had half a mind to ask the man if he had gotten lost on the wrong part of the hill. He was intrigued to say the least.

 

Sailing past Baekhyun, Jongdae managed to get to him first, receiving a dirty look from other co-workers who had failed to seize their chance. He leaned over the bar, into the other man’s personal space, and over the thudding music tried in vain asking him what he wanted to drink. The other frowned, screeched out a loud ‘what?’, and then pointed at his ears. He seemed visibly uncomfortable with the way other people kept bumping into him, shoving past his body to get to the bar, shoulders bent and head lowered. He didn’t appear to be the clubbing type. Jongdae had repeated his question, louder this time, and the man had settled on a beer.

 

‘’You always get the good-looking ones!’’ Baekhyun had whined at him in passing, and Jongdae had been quite pleased with the other’s jealousy. Everything that made Baekhyun upset was good in his book. He had gone on to other customers and planned to make a quick chat with the other man a bit later on, but when Jongdae looked again fifteen minutes later, the man was being chatted up by a lanky twink Jongdae knew was a regular.

 

The man appeared uncomfortable and almost a little scared, and the second time Jongdae looked he was gone completely, beer barely sipped at, a 10,000 won note left behind.

 

*

 

Jongdae had forgotten all about the other man when two weeks later, Baekhyun roughly pulled him aside to scream in his ear.

 

‘’Your handsome one is here again. He asked for you. _Specifically_.’’ He had grumbled, expression on his face a most displeased one. Jongdae had stupidly stood there before looking where Baekhyun was pointing and recognizing the man’s face as the awkward one that left a big tip that time. He put on his brightest smile; the one customers had told him looked good, and walked up to the end of the bar where the other was sitting.

 

‘’Hello!’’ He greeted brightly. ‘’What can I do you for?’’

 

The other ordered a beer and for a moment it was almost like before. Someone came up to him, chatting away, but this time the man didn’t leave after rejecting the poor sod. Instead he sat there, clutching his beer and sending death glares at everyone who dared come close to him. It was odd. If Jongdae didn’t know any better, the man might have mistaken the place for just any ordinary bar but that was impossible, what with the man on man action going on in every corner of the place.

 

‘’Why are you looking so glum? Did someone not show up?’’ He asked with a cheeky grin, leaning over the bar on his elbows, as he gestured towards the glass for a refill. The other man’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. Jongdae, not quite expecting an answer, turned around to serve a fat old man that had been gesturing to him for a couple of minutes now, before the other suddenly blurted out:

 

‘’My name is Kim Joonmyun.’’

 

Jongdae blinked, taken aback for a moment, and then smiled again.

 

‘’Nice meeting you, Kim Joonmyun.’’ He answered, sliding another beer over the counter. The man, Joonmyun, slowly brought it to his lips without question. Having customers take a liking to you was good for business. Little chats meant more drinks meant more money meant another month of rent. This time was a little different though. Jongdae wasn’t quite sure why.

 

‘’What’s your name?’’ The other asked quickly when it seemed as though Jongdae was turning away again. Jongdae chuckled.

 

‘’We’re not supposed to tell customers our names. I’m working.’’ He explained. The other man’s stare did not wither.

 

‘’Surely, that’s a silly rule. You can break it.’’

 

‘’I’m afraid not, love. In fact, other customers need me, so –’’

 

‘’Don’t leave.’’ The man interrupted. His eyes were focused on Jongdae’s, dark and deep, and expression pleading.

 

Jongdae did leave. The fat man complained about poor service at which Baekhyun smiled at him with glee, and five more people wanted shots, salt and lemons and all. By the time Jongdae he came back to the spot where the other man had been sitting, bar stool now empty, there was a 50,000 won note. The glass was empty.

 

*

 

The third time he comes to the bar the man drinks two beers and leaves behind a tip so large Jongdae could easily pay his rent and have dinner in one of the town’s fancy restaurants as well, and he decides that it’s just too much. He ignores Baekhyun’s whining and shoots after the suited figure of the other leaving through the back door. He has to bane his way through thrums of people, some sending irritated glances his way, some tutting with arrogance, before he is greeted with the cold January air attacking his face. It’s dark out, 1 AM on a Friday night, and it takes Jongdae a moment before he finds the other lighting up underneath the yellow glare of the streetlight.

 

‘’Hey!’’ He shouts, breath fogging in the cold. The other doesn’t hear him so he walks closer to the other man, waving the cash in his hand over his head.

 

‘’Hey!’’ He repeats, and this time the other does look up. There is surprise in his wide eyes, cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth. His lighter does fall to the ground and the dance he makes to awkwardly pick the thing up gives Jongdae ample time to reach him.

 

‘’Sir, you forgot your change.’’ Jongdae says, shoving the money into the other’s space. The man makes no move to accept it.

 

‘’It’s yours.’’ He answers, nonchalantly gesturing towards the bills in fabricated boldness that doesn’t suit his clumsy manner.

 

‘’No,’’ Jongdae refuses sternly, once more pushing the money his way, ‘’it’s way too much. You only had two beers. I won’t accept this.’’

 

The other finally looks him into the eye, looking up underneath black bangs covering his eyes, and the fake poise is gone just like that. He bites his lip, one hand slowly moving towards the money in Jongdae’s.

 

‘’I – I just.’’ He stammers, avoiding Jongdae’s gaze. ‘’I just wanted to talk to you.’’ Is the confession, which is a bit creepy. But maybe also sweet, in a way. Maybe Jongdae’s moral compass has been temporarily blinded by the other’s good looks. Maybe this would feel far more wrong if Joonmyun wasn’t gifted with a beautiful face and a slim body hugging expensive clothes.

 

‘’You don’t have to pay me for that.’’ Jongdae points out. 

 

‘’You said you were working.’’

 

‘’Touché.’’

 

They stay silent for a while. Then, with a sigh, the other man takes the money out of Jongdae’s hand and slides it into his wallet, slides that back into his pocket. He looks up at Jongdae again.

 

‘’Could you at least tell me your name?’’ He asks.

 

Jongdae hesitates, mouth falling closed in a thin line. He really isn’t supposed to tell customers his name, or any other personal details, Hyunwook had been clear about that when he had been taken on. Just because he works in a bar doesn’t mean Jongdae’s allowed to slag off during work time. He supposed that right now, he isn’t working; he technically isn’t even in the bar. Joonmyun and his tips don’t seem all that crazy, just a little socially awkward is all. Besides, there is something about the other man, the way he seems so insecure yet walks with more self-assurance than Jongdae himself that makes him curious.

 

‘’The name’s Kim Jongdae.’’ He says finally. He expects Joonmyun to try and carry on the conversation, to get his phone number; anything. Instead, the other nods, content, and flicks away his cigarette. He slides his hands into his coat’s pockets and Jongdae suddenly realises the incredible cold around him.

 

‘’I hope to see you around, Kim Jongdae.’’ Joonmyun says, and then he’s leaving.

 

*

 

When mid-winter reaches its terrible temperatures, Chanyeol and Jongdae’s business of playing music on the streets becomes impossible for both of them. Chanyeol’s unfeeling fingers can’t properly play the frozen strings of his guitar, and Jongdae’s voice gets nasal with his blocked up nose. To get their hard-needed money they set up a stand on one of the squares (a plastic camping table and a paper sign exclaiming ‘’lowest prices here!’’) with fake-brand watches and cheap plastic jewellery. This provides them with less money than their other business, but it does the job. And so this winter too Chanyeol gets his grandma’s camping kit out of the attic and they place themselves at the edge of the square.

 

‘’It’s so fucking cold,’’ Chanyeol complains, sitting next to Jongdae on his plastic stool. He shivers visibly.

 

‘’You should have brought your gloves, idiot.’’

 

‘’I lost them!’’  Chanyeol retorts. Jongdae wants to point out that Chanyeol had lost his gloves three weeks before and has been too lazy to buy any new ones, but the other’s in one of his moods and Chanyeol in one of his moods is not a Chanyeol Jongdae wants to be around for six more hours, so he keeps silent.

 

‘’I wish someone would come. We haven’t sold _anything_ today…’’ Jongdae sighs after another moment of waiting, reaching down to the thermos underneath the table filled with chicken soup (courtesy of Chanyeol’s grandma as well).

 

‘’There is someone coming! Quick, sit up straight!’’ Chanyeol says excitedly, pulling hard on Jongdae’s arm, making him nearly spill all of the soup over their stand. He sends a glare Chanyeol’s way before looking at where the other man is pointing to a figure in the distance, walking seemingly in their direction. When the person is close enough to make out his face, Jongdae immediately recognises him. For some reason, it makes his heart pound a little faster, a nervous wave going through his body. It’s silly. Jongdae’s not a teenage girl. He has outgrown crushes like these some time ago. Or at least he thought he had, because when Joonmyun reaches their stand and smiles brightly at them both he can practically feel himself go weak in the knees.

 

Chanyeol immediately leaps at the chance, jumping up from his seat and clasping his hands together in a manner that Jongdae knows he thinks is professional, because he’d seen salesmen do the same in films before.

 

‘’Good morning, sir! How are you this fine day?’’

 

‘’I’m fine, thank you.’’ Joonmyun says, not taking his eyes off Jongdae. Chanyeol, completely ignorant to this, continues with his attack.

 

‘’So, are you looking for something for yourself? We’ve got some brilliant watches for even more brilliant prices! Of course, if you are looking for a little something for your missus, we’ve got that as well – ’’

 

‘’Actually, I just came to say hi to a friend.’’ Joonmyun interjects, and it’s then that Chanyeol finally seems to get the notion of what’s happening. His mouth falls closed and he sits himself back down on the cool plastic, disappointed a sale’s not going to happen after all. Jongdae’s throat seems too tight for him to speak. He doubts it’s because of his cold.

 

‘’Hi.’’ He pathetically squeaks out.

 

‘’I thought you worked at the Barracuda?’’

 

‘’I do. This is just – some extra money.’’ Jongdae explains, gesturing towards the bracelets and watches chaotically laid out before them in a heap. Joonmyun nods and answers with an understanding hum, leather-clad fingers brushing across the plastic of one of the watches close to him.

 

‘’You sell much?’’

 

‘’As if!’’ Chanyeol huffs, rudely butting into the conversation like he would. ‘’Every hour or so the police make their round and we have to pack everything up because, you know. The weather’s too shitty as well so barely anyone is out on the street – we’re lucky if we have just one customer today.’’

 

Joonmyun smiles at Chanyeol, not appearing to mind the uninvited intrusion at all.

 

‘’Is that so?’’ He says, the words now again directed at Jongdae. He picks up the watch he his eye had fallen on earlier and pushes one of his sleeves down so he can lay the thing over his wrist. 

 

‘’I quite like this one.’’ He declares. Jongdae grins with unbelief.

 

‘’What? You want to buy it?’’

 

‘’I don’t see why I shouldn’t.’’

 

‘’You wear a _Rolex_.’’

 

‘’Well, maybe I like this one better.’’ Joonmyun states and it’s as simple as that. It really isn’t, but Jongdae can almost believe it when the other talks like that. He wraps the thing, a black with silver ‘Armanni’ wristwatch, up in a bag and Joonmyun hands Chanyeol the 2,000 won.

 

‘’I’m a lawyer, you know,’’ Joonmyun says as he slides the thing into his leather briefcase. ‘’Let’s hope nobody at my office ever finds out about this terrible illegal activity.’’

 

The cheeky remark makes Jongdae chuckle. Chanyeol has gone from disinterest to looking at the both of them with a sort of disgusted, God-you’re-lame kind of look.

 

‘’But what will we do? When the police is cross-examining us, asking if Kim Joonmyun’s been here?’’ Jongdae teases. Joonmyun’s eyes jolt open in feigned surprise. Then, he clasps his hands together as if he’s just been given the solution, and takes his wallet out of his briefcase once more. He hands Jongdae a small, white paper. When he reads it, he realises it’s a business card.

 

 ‘’Any legal business, better call this number!’’ He smiles, and then he’s leaving again, black figure moving past Jongdae and Chanyeol into the city centre, this time with a quick ‘well then, goodbye’. When the other man is out of earshot Chanyeol turns towards Jongdae with a look that is half curiosity half confusion.

 

‘’What the _fuck_ was that?’’ He cries. Jongdae isn’t really sure himself.

 

*

 

Skip to another week later, and Jongdae finally dares to call Joonmyun. It continues like that for a while, friendly conversations in the morning and the afternoon and in the night before Jongdae starts his shift at the Barracuda. He finds out that Joonmyun lives on his own in a fancy apartment that must cost more than Jongdae’s yearly income (this is speculation on his part – but he doesn’t doubt it’s the reality) in Gangnam and has been a lawyer for five years after graduating from Seoul university. He works at his father’s firm and when Jongdae Googles the name he finds out they’re quite a big thing, apparently. Joonmyun takes him out to see science-fiction films and talks about manwha when they’re having drinks after. Jongdae recognises only some big names like One Piece and Neon Evangelion but the way the other man talks, wide gestures and a big smile on his face, makes the conversation pass by far too quickly and they both agree that they need a lot more evenings to discuss whether Light or L was the truly evil one in Death Note.

 

Joonmyun, despite his slick appearance, is also a bit awkward. He bumps into the corners of tables and drops plates and glasses of wine, red spilling over the restaurant floor much to the irritation of some sixteen-year-old kid that’s going to have to clean it up, he romantically holds the door open for Jongdae then walks into it himself. It’s this clumsiness that Jongdae assumes is the cause of the lack of physical affection Joonmyun shows. When he does kiss Joonmyun, finally, the other man kisses back instantly. A month of this and he takes Joonmyun to his own flat, the one he shares with Chanyeol and Yixing, and they both think Joonmyun’s a great lad even if he should refrain from cracking jokes.

 

Skip to a year later. Jongdae lies in his bed one Saturday evening, staring at an already sleeping Joonmyun and thinks that maybe, he wasn’t truly happy before. Maybe he was just getting on, because what he feels when he looks at the other man’s slightly open mouth and hears the soft sighs of his dreams is something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He thinks it’s quite impossible, quite unfair, for anyone in the world to have all this happiness. Joonmyun’s eyebrows furrow in his sleep when Jongdae reaches over and slides the 2,000 won watch off his wrist.

 

*

 

They’re both sitting on the couch, watching Chanyeol swear his way through an online game of Black Ops when Jongdae remembers how he first met Joonmyun. Yixing’s a couple of meters away in their cramped kitchen, making the incredible spicy stew his grandmother had taught him to make and had taken Jongdae years to be able to eat. Joonmyun had gobbled up two bowls on his first visit. A question bubbles into his mind.

 

‘’Why did you go to the Barracuda that day?’’ He asks. Joonmyun’s head shifts from where it’s resting on Jongdae’s chest, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

 

‘’Huh? Why are you talking about that so suddenly?’’

 

‘’Was just thinking ‘bout it.’’ Jongdae shrugs.

 

‘’Honestly? I thought it was a good way to meet men.’’ Joonmyun admits and when Jongdae bursts out into mocking high-pitched laughter, adds: ‘’Shut up! I didn’t realize it wasn’t the place for romantic conversation back then.’’

 

‘’Maybe when you want to get married you should look for someone on Grindr.’’ Jongdae gets an elbow in his stomach for that comment but Joonmyun’s still laughing and so is he. The other’s face softens then, and he lets one hand cup Jongdae’s chin.

 

‘’At least I met you.’’ He says, and it’s incredibly cheesy and cringe-worthy but Jongdae has been taught that’s what Joonmyun is like when he’s being truthful and has learned not to pass out with second-hand embarrassment. Instead, he leans in for a kiss.

 

Chanyeol takes that moment to scream bloody murder at the screen, profanities falling from his lips like a waterfall and large red letters announce to everybody watching that his team has officially lost the mission. He rips off his headset in anger, hands ruffling his hair as he continues to curse his opponent. Yixing walks into the living room, happily carrying his stew in a large bronze pot. His apron is the one Chanyeol had gifted him last Christmas, the one with a half-naked woman on the front. It makes Yixing look like a runaway mental patient as he proudly clasps his hands together and calls: ‘’Dinner’s ready!’’.

 

Joonmyun’s in stitches at the absurd play unfolding in front of them, muffling his laughter in his fist, and Jongdae can’t wipe the smile off his face all the way through the rest of the evening.

 

*

 

Joonmyun’s a little shy about his wealth. It’s obvious he dresses down when he’s meeting Jongdae or when he’s going to Jongdae’s flat for dinner, Prada suits and golden cufflinks swapped for grey Oxford-style sweaters with white shirts and worn out sneakers. He doesn’t talk about his job either and Jongdae knows it isn’t because he doesn’t like his job, but because he thinks everyone in the world must be of the opinion that he only got to his current position because of his father. It’s nonsense, and Jongdae tells him that. Joonmyun is an excellent lawyer. Still, it takes some time for Joonmyun to finally invite Jongdae into his apartment. It’s all black and white, sixties styled, the furniture oozing class out of every nook and cranny. The first time Jongdae gets to visit the place, he comments that it looks nice. Jongdae thinks it looks like something out of a furniture catalogue, pale and unfriendly. There is no evidence of anyone living in it. It’s fitting that Joonmyun mostly wears his suits when he’s at home, stern and unfamiliar, and Jongdae feels more than a little out of place when he listens to Doris Day’s camp singing of Que Sera Sera, splayed out on the couch in his bright green sweater and red sweatpants.

 

What doesn’t fit is Joonmyun opening the door to someone that calls him ‘baby’ and arms circling around his neck, heels clacking on the wooden floor. It makes Jongdae sit up immediately, the woes of the Martin family temporarily forgotten, and he cranes his neck to see what is happening. A woman, tall and thin, Jongdae can’t see much more of her, is standing on her toes, leaning up to kiss Joonmyun. His stomach hurls when he sees Joonmyun kiss back.

 

When he turns around Joonmyun is wearing an expression Jongdae can’t read. It’s something like guilt. It’s now that the woman seems to notice Jongdae, head visible above the couch, and the smiles brightly at him, letting go of Joonmyun’s hand.

 

‘’Oh my God, Joonmyunnie!’’ She exclaims, ‘’I didn’t know you had a visitor! Introduce us.’’

 

‘’Jongdae,’’ Joonmyun begins, averting his eyes when Jongdae looks back at him with concealed rage, ‘’this is my girlfriend, Dasom. Dasom, this is my – this is my friend from work, Jongdae.’’

 

Dasom, Jongdae’s mind registrars bitterly, skips forward to clutch Jongdae’s hand happily.

 

‘’It’s so nice to meet you, Jongdae! Joonmyun never lets me meet any of his friends, he’s oh so secretive, you know? Anyway! How long have you known each other?’’

 

‘’Oh, only for a little bit,’’ Jongdae says, eyes drilling into Joonmyun’s face, ‘’it’s just like Joonmyun said – I’m just a friend from work.’’

 

Dasom looks like she’s just about to burst into conversation, a wide smile plastered on her pretty face, while Joonmyun is still standing near the hall, pace white as chalk and hands clasped into fists. Jongdae recognises it as something he does when he’s thinking about a trying case.

 

‘’Actually – I was just leaving.’’ He interjects before she can truly begin to speak, and it makes Joonmyun look up. His mouth opens and closes stupidly, while Dasom whines for him to stay for dinner at least, please. Jongdae is still practically fuming with anger when he gets outside, having brushed past a flabbergasted Joonmyun, and he realises he has forgotten to get his coat on the way out. He kicks an innocent wall in frustration, something which only makes his foot hurt and a passerby look at him oddly, knowing he now has to go back and retrieve it. Unlike Joonmyun, Jongdae doesn’t have the budget to buy a new winter-coat every season. It turns out to be an unneeded worry though, for a moment later there’s Joonmyun standing on the pavement, Jongdae’s coat clutched in one of his hands.

 

‘’You left this.’’ Is the only thing he says and he still isn’t meeting Jongdae’s eyes. It makes another flare of fury burst through Jongdae’s veins. Uncaring about the other people walking up and down the street, he starts to shout.

 

‘’What the _fuck_ , Joonmyun?’’ He exclaims, making no move to grab his coat.

 

‘’I – Jongdae, please let me explain – ‘’ the other sputters pathetically, Jongdae’s coat dragging over the dirt on the pavement.

 

‘’You were cheating on me? When were you going to tell me? No wonder you were so hesitant to let me into your apartment!’’

 

‘’I wasn’t cheating on you! Dasom, she’s nothing! She means nothing to me – it’s just because of my parents, they don’t know – they don’t know that I’m gay yet and they set me up with her – ‘’

 

‘’Oh well then it’s okay, right? If you’re just using her? Fuck, Joonmyun!’’ He screams. Several people have stopped in their tracks; one woman covering her daughter’s ears sends a glare their way. Joonmyun steps closer to Jongdae, gesturing him to please be quiet.

 

‘’Please, Jongdae, let’s talk about this like adults! Screaming will get us nowhere. Besides, Dasom might overhear if you’re too loud!’’ He says, the coat now bundled up in his arms. Jongdae’s fists itch. He can’t believe he has let himself be fooled by Joonmyun. Innocent and insecure, my ass.

 

‘’Take one step closer to me and I’ll punch your fucking lights out, you fucking cheater!’’ Jongdae cries, uncaring about the people watching. Joonmyun does stop then, and he falls silent.

 

‘’You don’t treat people like that, Joonmyun! You don’t get to – pick and choose who you care about and who you don’t! You don’t lie!’’

 

‘’Jongdae, please, I never meant to – ‘’

 

‘’Shut the fuck up, Joonmyun. Give me my coat,’’ He orders. Joonmyun awkwardly takes one step forward, just close enough for the other man to clutch the coat out of his hands. Jongdae looks down at Joonmyun with disgust and shakes his head. He lets out a heavy sigh and wills himself to calm down. The other man is looking at him now. ‘’Joonmyun. You can go up there now, with me, and admit everything to her. Or, you can crawl up the stairs and continue to live your life just like you have. But don’t expect me to be a part of it.’’

 

Joonmyun stays silent.

 

‘’Well – what are you going to do?’’ Jongdae asks, and even through his anger it’s a bit of a plea. Please, please, stay.

 

Jongdae takes the 18:05 back to Hongdae alone. As they pass the square, the bus flashes past the stand where Yixing and Chanyeol are busy selling junk. That evening, Jongdae spends his entire shift looking for a marine suit and a leather briefcase.

 

 

*

 

 

END OF PART ONE


	2. PART TWO

 

*

 

Upon hearing the news, Yixing and Chanyeol both try to console him in their own way, best as they can. Yixing gives him a lecture about how Jongdae is kind, sweet and handsome (and you sing great, too!) and how, if he were a girl, he’d date Jongdae in a second. Chanyeol, always a bit squeamish when it comes to ‘all that gay stuff’ has the decency to shut his mouth for once and only sits there, patting Jongdae’s back in a manner that he must think is comforting but is really a bit awkward for both parties involved. Jongdae thanks them both truthfully and Joonmyun’s name isn’t mentioned again. It cuts, the way the place seems to be too empty now and how a voice is missing when they play cards at night. Jongdae sometimes takes the wrong line after work, the one that brings him to Joonmyun’s flat where he would sleep on Fridays after his last shift, before realizing he can’t go there anymore. Sometimes he thinks he’d like it, to just let out how he feels, but they’re men and men don’t talk about these things, not really, so Jongdae doesn’t breach the subject.

 

Christmas rolls around. Chanyeol is taking his girlfriend of two months to the newly opened edgier-than-thou restaurant in the centre of Gangnam and to see a predictable romantic Christmassy film in the hope that she’ll get so much into the spirit that she’ll sleep with him. Yixing is saving up for his trip to China for the Lunar New Year and Jongdae’s family hasn’t called in ages, so the two spend it together in their cramped apartment, watching Die Hard 2 while munching on fried chicken. Jongdae doesn’t really mind. Christmas never meant much in his old home; he doesn’t see why it should change now. Besides, he is tired and a little sad; going out isn’t an attractive option at all. Yixing is funny and friendly, and they have a good time.

 

When New Year comes to pass, Chanyeol drags Yixing along with him on a double date he set up, still in the hope of bedding poor Yuri (Jongdae has met her once – he knows better than Chanyeol that the more he tries the less she’ll give in). When they return to the house the next day, the apartment seems oddly cramped to Jongdae. In the course of the next weeks Chanyeol’s voice seems too loud and Yixing’s Korean pronunciation suddenly rings off in his ears, his jokes falling flat. There is a spot of mould on the wall next to his bed, and when he wakes up and turns his body to the side, it’s all he can see.

 

He didn’t expect to miss Joonmyun as much as he does. After all, Jongdae has dated before; other men and longer periods of time. He had been angry with Joonmyun, incredibly angry. But that had only lasted so long. Now there is only sadness that remains, an ache in his chest that doesn’t leave with the days. Truthfully, Jongdae really likes Joonmyun. He is kind; all smiles and polite sentences, and smart as well; telling Jongdae all about things he has never known before. They can laugh together in that way you only ever get to with a handful of people. He misses that the most. If Jongdae scrapes the back of his mind, he can even understand why Joonmyun did what he did. This life isn’t easy, not where they live. He has seen many of his friends try and date girls, try to like them more, sometimes even marry them (especially if their family was particularly conservative). Not everyone is like Jongdae, easily giving everything up to live a certain way. Not even in this city of Seoul, where they have super fast Wi-Fi and everything is tall skyscrapers and new innovations and modern and brilliant. Still, thinking about those things only makes his head hurt more, and he prefers not to ponder on the whys of what has happened.

 

Jongdae often takes the long way home these days. He will find himself on platform 2A, then change his mind and walk back to 5B where he can catch the seventh train line, the one that goes all around Seoul in a circle and back. He sits there and watches the outlines of buildings and trees flash by in the shadows that the night brings. When Jongdae was small, he loved gazing at the sky, especially in summer. He would lie on his trampoline and look up at the black surrounding him at every side. The skies where clear where they lived hidden away in a corner of the countryside, and he could never count all of the white lights blinking back at him, for there were too many for his young brain to behold. His mother would smile and joke about how that was the only time when Jongdae was truly silent, and her smile would only grow wider when he would burst out into a speech about all the different constellations he had spotted that night. In Seoul the stars are hidden by the smog, but when he passes the oil refinery on the edge of town and its many lights decorating the pipes crawling out from the ground and up into the sky, it’s almost like he’s back there, counting the stars on his trampoline, the summer wind blowing through his hair.

 

*

 

Saturday is always one of the busiest nights in the Barracuda, and today is no exception. Jongdae has been busy all evening with clients, running back and forth to the different sides of the bar, making sure every customer is getting their dose of beer and Bacardi. Shots are excitedly poured and even more excitedly devoured. The music is loud and the mood is getting better by the second. Except for one rather large man complaining to Jongdae that there was barely any vodka in his vodka-cola, the evening has gone rather well. It’s an exception to the rule, and it should perhaps make Jongdae feel relieved. It does, a bit, but more than anything he feels disclosed from the excitement happening around him. Even after the last couple of months, Jongdae hasn’t fixed his habit of checking every suit-clad man that comes in for the familiar briefcase. Sometimes there will be some guy, short and slender, with black hair brushed back in that familiar fashion, and his stomach will drop with expectation, before realizing it’s not.

 

It’s why, when Baekhyun takes him aside for the few seconds he can spare and nonchalantly tells Jongdae his boyfriend was here an hour ago, he wastes no time on scolding the man for not telling him sooner. Instead, he sprints out of the back door immediately, uncaring about Baekhyun’s complaint about how he’s going to handle all these customers on his own.

 

When Jongdae gets outside, the smoking corner is empty, save for Hyunah smoking a cigarette, sitting on one of the lower walls next to the garbage bins. She looks up at him when he bursts out of the door, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in surprise.

 

‘’What’s up?’’ She asks around a cloud of smoke, a nod of the head. Jongdae is still panting.

 

‘’Did you – did you see a man here, short posture, taller than me. Um – pale, black hair, probably wearing a suit?’’

 

‘’Oh yeah,’’ Hyunah says after a moment, nodding as she remembers, ‘’he was here just a couple of minutes ago. I think he asked for you. I couldn’t really understand what he was saying – sorry. He seemed very drunk, slurring his words and shit, so I assumed he was just another customer looking for trouble. Was he someone you knew?’’

 

Jongdae’s stomach drops. The disappointment must show on his face for Hyunah’s expression turns softer, that caring tone in her voice she uses whenever one of the crew has boy problems, giving out advice like a mother hen.

 

‘’Oh babe, I’m so sorry – I should have gone to get you!’’

 

‘’No, it’s okay. I get why you did that. It’s fine.’’ Jongdae says, waving off Hyunah’s words, willing himself to stop breathing so heavily. Suddenly, she sits up straight, as if remembering something important.

 

‘’Ah, that’s right –‘’ she says, one hand sliding into the tiny pocket of her red dress, ‘’ – he dropped this.’’

 

What she holds out is the watch Jongdae had sold Joonmyun now over a year ago. The n’s spelling ‘Armanni’ have faded, ironically making it look more like the actually brand now, and the wristband looks more than rough. The clasp has broken – the cheap metal gone. Jongdae takes it.

 

*

 

Jongdae should not be doing this. He doesn’t know what possessed him to think this would be a good idea when he got up this morning. His mood was infinitely better; one of those moods where Jongdae plans getting fit and studying well and calling his parents and bringing world peace – all things he normally pushes off to some other week once lunch rolls around. Now, having rung Joonmyun’s doorbell, he realises he has absolutely no plan whatsoever. The adrenaline has run out of his veins, leaving him only with a stupid idea and anxiety creeping up on him. The watch is in the pocket of his coat, clasp having been repaired by a distrusting Chanyeol that asked Jongdae about five times if this watch was truly his; I’ve never seen you wear it.

 

It takes a little long for Joonmyun to open and in that moment Jongdae thinks about running away quickly, have Joonmyun open the door to an empty hallway and forget all about his stupid plan, but he’s not quick enough and suddenly he’s face to face with the other man.

 

The first thing Jongdae notices how awful he looks. His skin has broken out like crazy, the way it looked like in those pictures of his high-school graduation he had shown Jongdae once, and there are large circles underneath his eyes, an indication of how much sleep Joonmyun has been getting. Jongdae thinks he’s lost weight, too, but it’s hard to tell underneath the loose hoodie and sweatpants he is wearing. His eyes widen when he sees the other man and for a moment Jongdae thinks he’s going to slam the door shut. He doesn’t.

 

‘’Jongdae?’’ He asks, voice still groggy with what Jongdae imagines must be sleep. Joonmyun rubs his eyes. It’s one o’clock.

 

‘’Hey,’’ comes Jongdae’s answer, a little sheepishly. His arms are still shoved into the pockets of his coat. When Joonmyun doesn’t answer, he slides the watch out, one arm stretched out towards the other man.

 

‘’You lost this. Thought you might want it back. Um, the clasp was broken – I fixed it, so you don’t have to worry about that.’’

 

‘’Oh. I see,’’ Joonmyun says slowly, staring down at the watch in Jongdae’s hand. As he takes it out of Jongdae’s, their hands brush ever so slightly, skin against skin. It makes Jongdae feel oddly nervous, as if Joonmyun and he are newly-met friends who still have to get used to touching each other, avoiding each other’s bodies. He suddenly feels glad for his coat, hiding the goose bumps on his arms.

 

‘’Thank you. I – I’ve got a couple of meetings tomorrow,’’ Joonmyun says. Then, he glances at the watch and smiles lightly, ‘’or rather, today. ‘s important to be on time.’’

 

‘’Yeah,’’ Jongdae agrees. His heart is still in his throat; lumping together all of the words he wants to say and can’t get out. Now is the moment where Joonmyun is supposed to thank Jongdae one last time, say goodbye to the other man and close the door. Jongdae is supposed to take the tube back home and get back into his bed, alone. Neither of them makes to move. They stand there, neither of them meeting each other’s gaze for what seems like an eternity but what Jongdae knows are probably mere seconds. It’s Joonmyun that speaks first.

 

‘’Do you want to come in for – ‘’

 

‘’I’d love to.’’

 

This is how Jongdae finds himself sitting at Joonmyun’s breakfast table in the middle of the night, a cup of coffee steaming in his hands, with too many words in his head to ever get into this conversation. There is no cup in front of Joonmyun. The other man doesn’t drink coffee, Jongdae knows, and it feels incredibly awkward sitting there with his coat still on, not sure if it would be alright to take it off, sipping at the black liquid alone. Jongdae just wants to burst into conversation, to tell Joonmyun everything that has been on his mind these past days and how much he wants him back, but real life never allows people the luxury of expressing their feelings in such a way. There are rules that one follows in reality. So Jongdae waits until Joonmyun’s gaze finally finds his’ and he begins to talk.

 

‘’I broke up with Dasom after Christmas.’’ Is the first thing he says. Jongdae hopes the surprise doesn’t show on his face. The kitchen is dark, only the light of the street lamps making their way into the room through thin white curtains lining one of the windows. Joonmyun’s face looks more angular like this, dark shadows dancing over his face in the grey light. His cheekbones are sharp, nearly jutting out on the edges of his face. It makes him look older, more tired. Jongdae tries a supportive smile.

 

‘’That’s – that’s a good thing, Joonmyun. You were very brave to do that. It’s a start, yeah? How did she react?’’

 

Joonmyun purses his lips, trying in vain to muster up some strength in his voice.

 

‘’Oh, she was fine. You know, Dasom has dated more men in her time. I think she had seen it coming for a while now. She took it very well,’’ here, there’s a sniff and a weak smile makes it way onto Joonmyun’s lips, ‘’She’s always very sweet, Dasom. Such a nice girl.’’

 

Jongdae wishes he could stand up and cross the distance between them, press a kiss to Joonmyun’s lips, hold his head against his chest. He remains where he is, smile plastered on his face even through his hurt.

 

‘’That’s great! That’s a really big step, Joonmyun! I think it’s really good that you broke up with her. A relationship like that would only have harmed the both of you in the end.’’

 

‘’Mhmm – yes. I agree. I came out to my parents, you know.’’

 

‘’What did you – what, when?’’ Jongdae can’t hide the surprise covering his voice this time. The other man doesn’t look up, not even as Jongdae’s voice cracks slightly in the middle of his sentence. His voice is laced with make-pretend nonchalance.

 

‘’Oh, I don’t know; somewhere during Christmas and the New Year. It only seemed suitable after I broke up with Dasom.’’

 

Joonmyun stays silent after that, doing nothing but stare at his hands, which he turns over and over on the surface of the grey table. Jongdae waits in vain, eventually speaking up himself.

 

‘’Well?’’ He asks, leaning forward ever so slightly, voice soft. The coat is slipping off his shoulders. ‘’How did they react?’’

 

‘’Oh they were perfectly charming about it. In fact, they’re paying for my therapy. They really want to help me, it’s so sweet really.’’

 

Jongdae’s stomach sinks to the floor. Joonmyun is still staring at his hands, thin and pale. His voice sounds as weak as he looks.

 

‘’Therapy? Joonmyun – what kind of therapy are you talking about?’’

 

‘’Well you know, therapy to help me get rid of my problematic… predilection. I met my therapist just last week. He seems like a really fantastic guy, told me he thinks I have a very high chance of succeeding.’’

 

‘’What are you talking about Joonmyun? You don’t honestly believe that some ridiculous therapy – you don’t actually believe that you can change yourself, do you?’’

 

At this point in the conversation, Joonmyun finally looks up. His hands are still nervously tapping away on the table, but his eyes are focused on Jongdae’s face. They’re entirely black in this light, and the emptiness Jongdae finds in them is frightening.

 

‘’They actually have a high success rate, but I know you wouldn’t believe that – they told me people like you would try and lead me into temptation. Tell me I can’t succeed. They – they actually told me I was supposed to cut you off. I wasn’t going to let you in at first, but I trusted you to support me. How dare you come in here, judge me, then call yourself my friend?’’

 

The words are said entirely without conviction even if Joonmyun tries to pretend – Jongdae sees right through him and his bluffing. He doesn’t know the brainwashing that has already gone on in Joonmyun’s mind – it’s obvious they have already started. At this point of the conversation, Jongdae wants to rip out his hair in frustration. The words Joonmyun speaks registrar in his mind, but they seem too absurd, too out of place. He can’t believe the other would be as desperate as this. Jongdae knows the torment Joonmyun must have gone through, has sat at the breakfast table with his mother calling him a monster, his father never hiding his disgust, his brother not even daring to look at him. Still – desperate situations don’t necessarily call for desperate measures, no matter what people say.

 

‘’You don’t have to live like this, Joonmyun. There are plenty of people that are out in this city – we’re not there yet, but you don’t have to lie to your family! You don’t have to lie to yourself, for God’s sake! Just look at me; I’m doing just fine. Yeah, my mum doesn’t exactly send me a card with Christmas. Some of my friends have left me. But I have a job I love in a place where I can be completely honest about myself. I can have a relationship with someone I truly love. I don’t have to live and pretend to be someone I’m not – that’s a hell of a better life than most!’’

 

The hand on the table stills. When Joonmyun’s gaze moves to his lap, his bangs fall into his eyes, pricking him in a way that must be uncomfortable. He doesn’t blink them away. Jongdae is desperate.

 

‘’Joonmyun… you must think about this –‘’

 

‘’I have thought, Jongdae!’’ Joonmyun snaps suddenly, not looking up. His back is strung like a wire, jaw tight. Jongdae leans back at the sudden loudness of the other’s voice. ‘’I have thought about this a lot. You mustn’t blame me. It’s not fair. I can’t be like this – you don’t understand. Not everyone is like you, happy to let go… I will lose my job, my family, my life! Just what do you think – what would I even do without all of this?’’ Here, he gestures at their surroundings. When he looks back at Jongdae, there is sadness in his eyes. ‘’Truth is, I’d be nothing without my family.’’

 

‘’Even so you must try and listen to me! I never said it would be easy –‘’

 

‘’Please leave. I have work in the morning, I must go back to bed.’’ Joonmyun says curtly. Jongdae hesitates over a retort, but seeing how tired the other man looks, decides against it. He never wants to fight with Joonmyun. Especially not when the other looks so sad, so pitiful. All he wants is to take the other in his arms and comfort him like he’d used to when stress was high at work, Joonmyun’s face against his chest and one hand in his hair, but it is Joonmyun who is making that impossible. Right now, Joonmyun is standing with his back to him, a careful distance between the both of them as he walks to open the front door. As Jongdae slowly walks through it, Joonmyun adds in a thin voice:

 

‘’I’d like to stay friends. If you want to support me, that is.’’ His eyes are big, begging, boring holes into Jongdae’s face. Behind him, Jongdae can see the watch’s silver glister in the dim light. He looks at Joonmyun. His heart feels heavy, and there’s a sadness stuck in his throat, weighing down on his chest, where it’ll rest and wait to explode in a moment of weakness. His throat restricts.

 

‘’Of course. What are friends for?’’

 

And Joonmyun smiles.

 

*

 

After dating Yuri for seven months, Chanyeol leaves him and Yixing to go and live somewhere in one of the suburbs with Yuri and the baby now growing in her belly. The wedding is going to be soon, and they’re all very happy for the new couple. Chanyeol is happy too, even if it was all a bit of a mistake.

 

‘’’suppose it can happen on the first time, ey?’’ He jokes awkwardly over a beer during the barbecue he and Yuri throw to welcome their new neighbours into their social circle, flipping blackened burgers while the sun works overtime in giving him the tan he so hates. Later on in the evening, Jongdae makes a bet with some scrawny kids he’s just met at the party – he gives them two years.

 

With that, him and Yixing are left alone at the apartment. Someone named Dongwoo fills the gap Chanyeol’s left behind. The kid is younger than the both of them, loud and obnoxious, and a bigger slob than Chanyeol. He lets his laundry roam all over the living room they all share, eats the food Yixing prepares for his sister (labelled: YIXING’S – DO NOT TOUCH), and has loud phone sex through too thin walls nearly every night, leaving Yixing and Jongdae to desperately cover their ears with their cushions. After two months of this and a particularly offensive remark about Yixing and his hometown, it’s Jongdae that throws the first punch. Dongwoo doesn’t leave though, so the only thing it gets Jongdae is a bruised lip and a black eye – something which in turn steals away the tips he would usually get at the Barracuda.

 

Somewhere along the way, Jongdae doesn’t even remember when, he drives Yixing to the airport for him never to come back. Yixing calls with him through Skype, shows him the girl he’s met from his village, and the wedding photos come through a week later. Jongdae can’t muster up the energy to buy him a wedding card and have the thing fly all the way to fucking China, so he sends Yixing some money a week later and tells him he’s glad through a blurry webcam screen, his lips not moving in sync with his voice. He never moves out of the apartment, not even when Dongwoo gets replaced with an even more detestable snotty little snot. He doesn’t have the money, after all. What would his fucking options be?

 

Hyunah tells him he’s become such a Debbie Downer, scolds him between her cigarette break. Jongdae doesn’t really care. His tips gets less and less. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t want their tips anyway. They’re all disgusting; the foreigners, the Koreans; they’re all the same. Blonde, blue-eyed, grey-eyed, tan-skin, a Pusan accent or an Incheon one; Jongdae hates them all equally. He hates the mind-numbing music and the mind-numbing liquor, the drugs that are not-so-discreetly passed into the club and passed onto tongues. He hates the way their bodies grind together on the dance floor, the way he sometimes finds them with their pants around their ankles in the men’s. When he’d first started working there, he’d found it funny. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jongdae wonders whether it is only him that has changed, or if it had just been the outside world. Things had been bleak on some days, but surely he can’t remember them ever being quite as black as this.

 

The underground has become more expensive this year. Sometimes, Jongdae walks to save money. It helps him get rid of a couple of pounds. Some days, when he walks down the busy crosswalk, he wonders what would happen if he took a step to the side and jumped into traffic, if the cars would crash into him at high speed and the other people would gasp, or if they would step on their break so fast Jongdae would be standing there still, like a crazy man. He wants to, some days. There’s something at the back of his mind telling him just how nice it would be, luring him into that roar of traffic and pulling him towards the darkness. Just one step away. He never does.

 

*

 

 

END OF PART TWO

 

 


	3. PART THREE

 

*

 

One too many grumpy nights behind the bar and Jongdae gets fired (or: ‘let go’, as his boss calls it). Money is scarce as it is so when Jongdae can’t pay his rent the third month around, he decides to move out himself, before the others get a chance to throw him out. The only thing he can afford is a study room on one of the streets adjoining a vast building site where one day there will stand a grand shopping mall with prices so gross the people from this part of town won’t even think of entering the place. It’s a tiny room; a bed and a desk, a square fridge perched between the chair and the dark boards; but it’s something that’s only his. There are about eight other rooms like this in the house, most of them students of Seoul University without any of their parents’ pocket money, and the noise at night reminds Jongdae of home in the countryside. Laughter and drunken bets screeched at the top of voices from one side, moans and too-loud whispers spilling from the other. The only person that doesn’t fit in is one elderly woman, old enough to be Jongdae’s grandmother. She is small and short and she has a back that is bent in that way older people so often seem to have, a wrinkled face with dark eyes blinking up at him. There is passion in those eyes, as in her way of being, and Jongdae thinks it’s no lie to say even the six foot jock that leaves for the gym every morning at five is afraid of her and her scolding. In the house Jongdae is the one she appreciates the most, for he never brings home anybody, and therefore does not bring any trouble. She’s the first person Jongdae befriends in a long time. They have a chat one night when she’s insisted on feeding Jongdae some kimchi (‘’I can almost see your bones, child, is that what boys these days are like?’’) and she explains to Jongdae she has to live in a dump like this because her husband died and the rest of her family hadn’t bothered getting any money together for a nursing house, let alone a house of her own. It’s the only thing she can afford on her husband’s humble death grant.

 

‘’I never worked a day in my life,’’ she had explained to Jongdae, ‘’women my age simply didn’t, back then. Now all women seem to do is work – the men, too. But to spend any of that money on something useful? It wouldn’t even cross their mind!’’ She had scoffed then, shaking her head, and Jongdae had obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the spoon of kimchi thrust his way. Looking up at him from underneath her frowned eyebrows, she had asked him:

 

‘’What is your reason for ending up in a place like this?’’

 

He supposes he could have lied. Maybe to protect himself from the disapproval he expected, maybe to protect Soonjae from any of such – unconventional – problems, but he tells her anyway. He goes through the story starting from the day his parents had found his diary, his father’s speech, his mother’s tears and his brother’s silence. Once he’s finished talking she is looking at him not with disgust but with anger.

 

‘’You spoiled child,’’ she scolds, one finger pointed in indignation, ‘’how dare you blame your parents when you are just the same?’’

 

‘’Excuse me?’’ Jongdae retorts, a little taken aback and a little more than offended. Soonjae sighs as if he’s a five-year-old who has worn out her patience, understanding too little too slow, and reaches up to flick his forehead with her stumpy arm.

 

‘’I have lived for seventy-five years on this earth. How many problems do you think I have solved with silence? How many friendships saved? Realise that this world does not spin around you – that is the first thing. If you want to have something in your life, anything at all, you must work for it. Nothing good ever came from  _wishing_. What, do you expect God to save you?’’

 

Jongdae’s eyebrows shoot up behind his bangs.

 

‘’You don’t believe in God, miss Hong?’’

 

There is a flicker of irritation in those small, bright eyes, before her lips break out in a sneering smile. Spoon full of kimchi still in her hand, she gestures to the walls around them; the damp patches on the grey concrete, the cracks formed by countless of earthquakes, the flimsy blue curtains behind which a police siren can be heard every half an hour or so, the spider crawling up the leg of the table.

 

‘’Please,’’ she scoffs, ‘’what kind of God would put a lady like me in such a place?’’

 

*

 

Jongdae gets himself a job at the shop five doors down, where the neon twenty-four-hour light flashes and winks at passersby, inviting them in for a bargain or two. The shifts are long and the work is hard; Jongdae has to juggle between shocking the shelves and running to the cash registrar every five minutes, heavy bottles of heavy liquor nearly falling to the floor when his tired mind is startled by the doorbell, client’s complaints about slow service and why is this product not for sale. Chanyeol took his guitar with him when he went to live his life-action version of The Sims with Yuri (or at least Jongdae thinks that’s how Chanyeol must see his decision). He does not have the money to buy one for himself, but he still goes on the streets to sing on the weekends and sometimes he gets up to 15,000 won extra, money he should use for paying off his debts but instead uses to buy that perfume Soonjae once told him her husband used to buy. There are tears in her eyes when she opens the package, slaps him for being too foolish, cooks him delicious stir-fried fish that has all the other tenants peeping through their door opening’s to look on with jealousy as he devours the meal. At this rate, he’s going to have to work for years to pay off his debt, but Jongdae has the time. All his life exists of these days is work; Soonjae; and sleep. When he still lived with Chanyeol and Yixing, he’d try and study on his time off, but whenever he gets home from work these days he finds he feels too exhausted to do anything but crawl underneath his covers and close his eyes, letting sleep overcome his mind. Shut off the world. Soonjae tells him he’s just lazy. Perhaps she is right, Jongdae thinks, but then his heart still hurts. She doesn’t know that. Jongdae does not want her to know; after all, it would be unfair to complain to a woman who has lost her love of fifty years about a belated crush.

 

So he gets on. With every day that passes by, Jongdae feels as though he is waiting for something to shake him out of this, that this is just one stage in his life he has to pass through to get to happiness. He feels like a lifeless doll, void of any emotion, going through everything that needs to be done before starting again. Finish. Repeat.

 

Living isn’t enjoyable right now, but it isn’t that Jongdae has the desire to die. He does not dream of slitting his wrists, of jumping into traffic, of the way people would cry at his funeral and feel so sorry. It is the future that he waits for. He wants to know what lies ahead, to be there when it happens. He holds on.

 

One day when he gets back from singing in the streets, he goes through Gangnam on his way to the station. He doesn’t know why. He tells himself it isn’t intentional, but who can he truly fool when he still looks up at the window to catch a glimpse of that familiar face? The lights are off and Jongdae feels almost disappointed, heart sinking in his chest, before a voice he knows all too well bubbles through the front door of the tall building rising up to the sky. His heart skips a beat. He stands frozen for a moment before his instincts catch him and he hurries into the first alley he sees. When he peaks behind the brick wall, he can clearly see the figures of Dasom and Joonmyun walking down the steps of the building’s entrance. The sun is already setting at this hour, winter stealing away precious hours of the day, but Jongdae can still clearly see the way Joonmyun smiles sweetly at Dasom and her excited chatter, can see the large golden watch on his wrist when he opens the door of the car, Dasom shyly pulling her vest over the short part of her skirt as she gets in. Joonmyun’s smile seems so genuine, with the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his shoulders are relaxed and how he follows her movement with ease, one hand splayed on her lower back. Jongdae does not quite recognise this Joonmyun, but he looks happy. A man that does not have to be ashamed of holding her hand in public, or be afraid of being seen by someone he knows, constantly sneaking glances over his shoulder. This man seems proud of who he is with, comfortable in his own skin. Years away from who he was with Jongdae.

 

When he gets back to their building, the first thing he does is knock on Soonjae’s door. After a minute of this someone finally shuffles out of their door to explain to Jongdae what has happened. The fall and the loud scream, the man from the building site that hadn’t hesitated but called the ambulance, a nasty fracture but nothing serious, probably still in the hospital I’m not sure, a shrug and a pat on his shoulder. Jongdae lets himself fall on his bed and for the first time in months cries his heart out, uncaring if the thin walls allow his sobs to be overheard by the others. He cries and cries and cries until his ears ring and his eyes feel irritated and puffy and red; cries because of old wounds and recent scars, cries for memories of years ago and memories of recent times.

 

The next day he calls in sick to work. He goes to the internet café two blocks away and buys the train ticket, one-way, buys a card for Soonjae too, posts that while he’s at the station. He leaves with the 9:30 train.

 

*

 

The last thing Jongdae expects to see at the front door is someone he has never seen in his life. He had checked the address before leaving; he knows it’s the right one. They hadn’t moved. He had expected to see his mother, probably; his brother, maybe. Possibly even his father. The young woman standing in front of him is none of those. She flashes a friendly smile at him, a dishcloth in her hands, apron draped over her clothes. He supposes it must be around lunchtime. When a moment goes by without either of them saying anything she takes a step forward, clearing her throat to get his attention.

 

‘’Yes?’’ she asks, voice soft and kind, ‘’Are you selling something, sir?’’

 

Jongdae blinks, taken aback by her sudden appearance, and checks the house number on the plate behind her head once more; it’s correct. He puts his hands on his hips, back straight.

 

‘’I used to live here,’’ he barks, ‘’who the fuck are you?’’

 

Her eyes widen at the use of his language, friendly smile gone in a second. Jongdae moves quickly, catches the door before she has a change to close it, one foot preventing the thing from falling shut. There is pressure coming from the other side, the woman obviously trying hard to push the thing close. Even with the little power Jongdae possesses, he is still stronger than her. He can only see her dark eyes as the talks back to him, filled with irritation.

 

‘’I don’t know who you are. If you came here to steal, you should leave – I am not afraid to call the cops!’’ The words come screeching. Jongdae has to roll his eyes at her fake bravado. Apparently believing he is some sort of thief, the fear is obvious in her voice and the shaking of her hands. He pushes harder against the closing of the door.

 

‘’I told you I used to live here! My name is Kim Jongdae!‘’ He insists, voice louder this time.

 

There is a bustle of noise somewhere in the house, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching becoming clearer by the second. Jongdae knows those footsteps well, knows them of nights slipping back into the house at three AM. He isn’t surprised when he hears that familiar voice the next moment.

 

‘’Taehee, is something the matter? Who are you talking – ‘’

 

One arm circles around the woman’s waist, pulling her away from the door. The force of her body falls away and with that the door is thrust open by the push of Jongdae’s arm, his brother coming into full view. His mouth is wide open, eyes an imitation of the woman’s just a minute before. He does not say anything; just stands there, baffled. The woman sends an odd look up at his brother then back at him, obviously not having a clue about what is going on. The notion that she doesn’t know who he is, hasn’t heard his name before, means something that Jongdae doesn’t want to ponder on. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea after all. However, he has come all the way from Seoul. Two and a half hours by train and another twenty minutes by foot. A day’s worth of salary has gone into his ticket. He isn’t giving up now. Tipping his chin up ever so slightly he looks the taller man in the eyes.

 

‘’Hello, Taehyun.’’

 

*

 

The hospital room is like any other Jongdae has ever seen in his life (though admittedly those times have been very few). White walls trapping several beds in a large space, blueish curtains between each of the beds providing an illusion of privacy, small windows showing nothing but the building opposite. On the small table next to the bed there is but one card. Soonjae does not smile when he puts a large vase of flowers on it, but Jongdae does.

 

‘’I always hated flowers,’’ she creaks, not bothering to look away from the soap that is currently being played on the television hanging above her bed, ‘’wasting your money on something like that… for an old woman, too.’’

 

‘’I knew you’d like it.’’ Jongdae replies, taking the liberty of sitting down at the side of her bed. The older woman only shakes her head. One of her arms is wrapped in white cotton, the cast visible underneath the cloth starting at her neck and ending underneath her arm. For such a small woman she does not look weak at all, lying here in this overly large hospital bed, one arm broken beyond repair.

 

‘’How did it go?’’ He asks, more serious now, gesturing towards the broken arm. A deep sigh and Soonjae finally takes her eyes off Lee Minho romantically confessing to the female lead, a scowl forming on her face.

 

‘’They wanted to have an operation,’’ she begins, indignation in her voice. She does not lower her voice when the nurse comes by to check the sign hanging from the front of her bed, wanting her complaint to be heard. ‘’can you imagine such a thing? Me? A seventy-five year old woman having an operation? These doctors, they don’t see a human lying in this bed, they see a broken arm. Such fine thinkers, but they lack true knowledge. They wanted to have my precious money too. I said to him: ‘’I have no penny to spare, my dear man. You will not get rich off of me!’’. No, I insisted, no operation. It will heal. Now they want me here for another day or two. It’s crazy the way they treat people nowadays!’’

 

‘’Broken bones don’t always heal on itself.’’ Jongdae points out. The nurse passing by sends him a thankful smile, then goes through her routine check. She asks Soonjae whether she has been feeling a little clam, if she has been sleeping well, notes everything on her little writing pad, thanks her and walks away, heels clicking. When she has gone on to the next bed, a glare he wishes he had the power to imitate is shot his way.

 

‘’Are you trying to embarrass your senior by telling her that she is wrong?’’ She barks.

 

‘’Of course not.’’ Jongdae smiles.

 

‘’Well, alright. About what you wrote in the card – how did it go?’’ Soonjae asks, voice still curt though Jongdae knows she means no ill. Her eyes are on the television, deliberately avoiding his gaze for she must realise this is a difficult subject to breach. He recognises it as politeness in Soonjae’s own special way; a way to give him some space.

 

Jongdae lets himself lean back a little, biting his lower lip.

 

‘’It went well – sort of well,’’ he finally admits, ‘’there was no big fight. No ‘Family Matters’ situations, if that is what you were worried about – although I think you would have enjoyed a story that dramatic.’’

 

Soonjae snorts, the corners of her mouth curling up into a sly grin. The woman had a streak for dark humour – something which Jongdae himself could appreciate. His lips curve upwards ever so slightly, hiding his smile from the older woman.

 

‘’My parents were angry, of course,’’ he continues, ‘’but we talked. I could not believe it – my father and I, actually sitting down and talking. Not screaming or fighting each other, but an actual talk. I would have sooner believed in the Tooth Fairy.’’

 

She lets out a light chuckle at that, patting Jongdae’s hand softly. Her gaze moves to meet his eyes.

 

‘’Are things alright then?’’ She asks.

 

‘’I wouldn’t say that. But they are better, certainly. They’re not absolutely horrible anymore – so that’s an improvement.’’ He heaves a deep sigh. Memories of the words spoken the night before still cloud his mind; have worried him the entire train ride back. He still recalls his mother’s face; something of disappointment and relief mixed in with a terrible sadness. He realises now how much less of a mess he would have been in if he had stayed back then, worked things out instead of leaving a hurricane behind. But it was him that made this bed. Now he must lie in it.

 

Soonjae gives him a smile, one that lasts just a moment but a smile nevertheless, and gives his hand a quick squeeze.

 

‘’I am proud of you for facing your demons. Now get down to the shop and buy me some chocolate.’’

 

*

 

Red numbers stare back at Jongdae. He presses the start button once more, finger pressing into the plastic with much more force than necessary. The numbers stay in place as if they were sneering, mocking him. One hand around the bowl of soup informs Jongdae that his dinner is still ice-cold. He slams the microwave shut, the plastic clicking as it bounces back into its place.

 

‘’Hyukjae!’’ He shouts, not bothering to walk up to the man’s door, ‘’did you break the microwave?  _Again_?’’

 

Behind the poster-plastered door a women’s voice can be heard. Then giggles as something falls and shatters to pieces, more laughter poorly hidden. Jongdae rolls his eyes and snatches the bowl of soup out of the plastic cube, resigning himself to a dinner of cold bean sprout soup with a side of burned white rice. By the side of the fridge the blue phone starts to ring, alerting him to the fact someone is at the door.

 

‘’Is that you?’’ He screeches. Hyukjae’s girlfriend is already in his room, as has been made obvious by the various loud noises in the past couple of minutes, but then Hyukjae is the only one at home besides him. He hasn’t had a visit from anyone since he has begun living here. Sometimes the Jehovah’s witnesses come here, door to door, but they haven’t shown in a while. Jongdae might have had a bit of a falling out with them the last time they had appeared on his doorstep.

 

‘’Nope!’’ Comes the answer, far too loud, and there are giggles again. Jongdae wishes he could punch the stupid grin the other is no doubt wearing off Hyukjae’s face. Maybe slap his girlfriend as well – courtesy be damned. Like a child screaming for attention, the ringing of the phone starts again, loud and sharp to his ears, and Jongdae jerks the phone off the holder.

 

‘’Hello?’’ He barks. There is some rustle on the other side; the noise comes crackling through the line to Jongdae’s ear, before silence falls over the telephone. Jongdae puts the soup he has been holding down onto the kitchen table.

 

‘’Hello? Who is this?’’ He demands again. Great, he thinks, a bunch of kids ding-dong ditching, just his luck. As if Hyukjae and his girlfriend hadn’t been enough to fuel his irritation. He is about to slam the phone down again before a voice comes through.

 

‘’Jongdae?’’

 

‘’Yes, you’re speaking to him. Who is this please?’’

 

‘’Jongdae it’s me – it’s Joonmyun.’’

 

Recognizing the voice, Jongdae heaves a sigh, shakes his head.

 

‘’Alright, I’m hanging up.’’

 

‘’Don’t hang up! Please. I – I just want to talk to you. Nothing else. Just that.’’

 

Jongdae rubs his temple. He looks down at his dirty work shirt, ketchup and soda and whisky all mixed into the rough fabric rubbing against his skin. One glance at the cold soup standing at the table, a slimy greyish substance Soonjae would have smacked him for. A couple of meters away, Hyukjae and his girlfriend break out into another fit of giggles, only her soft whines breaking the sound of their lips smacking together. If he stays here tonight, he is sure to lose his mind. Or his temper. Perhaps both.

 

Joonmyun hasn’t called in months. But then, neither has Jongdae. The white plastic door of the microwave still hangs open, taunting him.

 

‘’I’ll be down in a minute.’’ He says.

 

*

 

They find a sushi restaurant a couple of streets down where Jongdae is fairly sure Joonmyun and his Gangnam get-up won’t get mugged, or at least not stabbed to death. It’s as classy as it gets around this part of town; clean tables, paper napkins and a television glued to the wall, no foreigners. It’s nearly empty except for them, the emptiness typical to a lot of restaurants around here. People don’t come here to eat, but Joonmyun doesn’t need to know that.

 

When they sit down, Joonmyun offers to pay for both their meals.

 

‘’I don’t need your money,’’ Jongdae retorts, even if it would help. He is a big boy. He has a job. It might not be much, but he’s gotten used to it. He does not need Joonmyun to pay away his guilt. The other man looks almost hurt, but he slides his wallet back into his suit jacket anyway. A fat man comes shuffling over after a minute or two, taking their order and shouting it at the old woman behind the stove. Joonmyun starts to talk nonsense at him, little things that interest neither Jongdae nor him, trying to ease the tension and failing. He tries to hold on to non-interested sounds and little hums of approval here and there but it’s hard when he does want to talk to the other man, when he has dreamed of this happening so many times. But that was when Jongdae still lived with Yixing. He had given up that hope.

 

‘’How did you get my address?’’ He asks after his second tuna maki, not able to hold up the silence any longer. Joonmyun seems relieved to have the veil finally lifted. He sits up ever so slightly, hands by the side of his plate, and starts to talk.

 

‘’I ran into Chanyeol at the supermarket the other day. With his wife – we talked a bit. It took me quite some convincing into getting your new address.’’

 

‘’You could just have asked.’’ Jongdae points out. Joonmyun is quick to retort.

 

‘’Don’t play coy. You know you wouldn’t have given it to me.’’

 

His eyes leave the plate for a moment, gaze sliding up until it reaches Joonmyun’s face. The other doesn’t look away, his shoulders do not sag. Suddenly Jongdae is taken back to that day when he had accidentally come across him and Dasom on the street. How different he had seemed. That difference is still here; it is apparent in the man sitting opposite of him.

 

‘’Why are you here, Joonmyun?’’ He asks. After disappearing, why are you here – when everything seems to be going so well for you. Why are you making this so hard on the both of us. It’s the crucial question and Joonmyun knows it too, for he sits up straight.

 

This man, sitting opposite Jongdae in his tailored suit and his large golden watch (it’s the same as that day with Dasom – Jongdae knows), with his eloquence and money and fancy black shoes. He does not belong in this second-rate restaurant, deserves better than to talk to the likes of him, with his ragged shirt and shattered dreams. He hadn’t thought this way when they had first met, but it seems clear to him now. Joonmyun seems as out of place here as he had seemed that first day when Jongdae had met him at the Barracuda. Worlds away.

 

If this were one of the overly romantic-I’ll-die-for-love-dramas Soonjae watches from the comfort of her hospital bed, Joonmyun would stand up and burst into a heroic: ‘’because I love you!’’ and Jongdae would probably burst into tears and fall into his arms. Jongdae remembers that he would also be a woman. As it is, Joonmyun only says:

 

‘’I quit therapy.’’

 

Which is about as romantic as ‘I have a haemorrhoid’, but it still stirs something in Jongdae’s chest; the meaning of those words. He looks up at the other man, whose expression still remains the same. Confident. Secure. Jongdae thinks he could easily fall for this man, too. Before he has a change to open his mouth, Joonmyun continues.

 

‘’It all went… quite well. For a couple of weeks. But then I… well. There was this man – he was in the same group as me. He was kind to me. We became quite friendly with each other and I helped him if he was feeling troubled. He did the same for me. Then one night – we got quite drunk. I admitted to not feeling any change and, well, he told me he felt the same. After that, we… you can imagine what happened. They made an example of us at the therapist. They make you tell everything at those meetings, even if you don’t want to… but that doesn’t matter now. He – the therapist, I mean – he told us that he did not see sufficient improvement in us. That we were lost cases.’’

 

There is a pause. Joonmyun’s eyes flicker down to his plate then back up. He gives Jongdae a smile, one that feels a little bitter.

 

‘’My parents were heartbroken,’’ he continues, ‘’but I wasn’t. I felt relieved.’’

 

‘’You’re doing well,’’ Jongdae puts in.

 

‘’Yes. I suppose I am.’’ Joonmyun concludes. His expression is serious but not unkind as he puts his chopsticks down, slides one hand over the table to meet Jongdae’s. Jongdae pulls his arm away instantly, starts to shovel the remaining food into his mouth, ignoring the hurt he sees flickering through Joonmyun’s eyes at the cold gesture.

 

‘’That’s all really great, Joonmyun,’’ he says through a mouthful of rice, ‘’and as your friend I am very happy for you. Stopping the therapy was the right thing to do – but I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.’’

 

‘’Go out with me. One date.’’ Joonmyun offers. His voice is clear and his eyes are bright.

 

Jongdae can feel his heart skip a beat, that light feeling in his chest reappearing, the same feeling Jongdae had felt when he had mustered up the courage to kiss Joonmyun for the first time.

 

He misses Joonmyun. Misses him so, so much. But things aren’t that simple. Not anymore.

 

‘’I can’t, Joonmyun,’’ He insists, putting his chopsticks down. Joonmyun’s face does not fall, not even when he continues his protest.

 

‘’These days – I am not in a good place right now. If you think I am the same person as when we first met… then you are mistaken.’’ Jongdae objects, and before Joonmyun can interject, adds: ‘’I don’t love you anymore.’’

 

‘’I know that isn’t true.’’ Joonmyun retorts, not missing a beat. Jongdae’s heart is beating so fast he can barely focus on anything other than the man sitting opposite of him, the adrenaline in his veins making it hard to hear Joonmyun’s words. He feels invisible to anything but Joonmyun; his vision, his voice, his presence; the memories of him and Jongdae. The black hair framing his face, the pale skin hidden underneath his dress shirt, the way his fingers tap the table in anxiety, the lazy curve of his lips, the calm of his voice. He wants all of that back.

 

He shakes his head, barking out a sad little laugh.

 

‘’How can you know that?’’ He argues. His head is bent, eyes staring at the hands nervously fidgeting in his lap, but he can still feel the other’s gaze on him, those dark brown eyes focused on his face.

 

‘’Because the first thing you did when you saw me was look at my wrist.’’ Joonmyun says.

 

There’s the rustle of clothes and when Jongdae looks up he sees Joonmyun sliding the wallet out of his jacket once more. He is about to protest when the other slides a small watch out of the leather purse; silver letters and a black plastic strap. Joonmyun holds it up for him to see, one finger toying with the end of the silver clasp. It’s broken in half.

 

‘’Chanyeol isn’t very good at repairing watches.’’ He smiles.

 

 

 

*

 

END OF PART THREE

 

*

 

 


End file.
